Soave
by LiebeLottie
Summary: Benvolio is desperate to find out what troubles his friend's mind.
1. Chapter 1

'BENVOLIO!'

The young man's heart skipped a beat as he felt two cold arms lock around his neck, cutting off his air supply. For one mad moment he thought Tybalt had come again, willing to reinitiate their duel. But those hands were icy. They couldn't belong to the fiery Capulet. There was only one man in Verona, whether it was freezing cold or blistering hot, whose hands were always chilly.

Benvolio smiled, reached back and after a couple of searching slaps, found his aggressor's nose and pulled it hard.

'Argh!' Mercutio moaned, letting go of his neck and scrambling over the back of the stone bench, with him still hanging on to his nose.

'Good e'en to thee too,' he grinned, as he released him.

Mercutio laughed wryly, boring him no grudge, and sat down too. He folded his hands behind his head and taking a deep breath of morning air, closed his eyes and let the sunlight wash over him.

The Montague gnawed at his lower lip, racking his brains for something to say. For some reason, he always went quiet when he was with him. Well, it was quite understandable, wasn't it? One couldn't get a word in edgeways when he was nearby.

He sighed and looked away. Sometimes he felt that Mercutio was contemptuous about his lack of wit. He and Romeo loved words, and that was what was lovely about their relationship. Both of them were eloquent and clever; they could spend hours enjoying some wordplay, laughing together. Their friendship was pure.

He turned his gaze back to him. Seven years met, seven years of company, but none of them enough to reach the closeness they shared.

Suddenly his eyes flicked open and Benvolio jumped, startled.  
'Where the devil should thy cousin be? Still pining, is he?'

Benvolio blinked.

'Dost thou know about Rosaline?'

He thought he had been the first to know about his infatuation. He was wrong.

'Ay, he confessed to me yesterday.'

'What counsel didst thou give him?'

Poor Romeo. He had better hold his tongue. Mercutio scoffed at his love passions and answered every of his complaints with a gibe loaded with sexual innuendo, and more than once Romeo had stormed off, refusing to talk to him unless he took his grief seriously. Benvolio had to put up with all these squabbles, and was beginning to get tired of it.

'He will not listen to me,' he replied, sinking his head down into his hands so that his knuckles squished his cheeks further up his face. 'Thou knowest thy cousin well, when a new maid steals his eye, no counsel can remove his longing.'

He nodded, smiling. At least he hadn't been the only one that had failed.

'True. I was not successful, either.'

Mercutio stood up and motioned him to do the same.

'That lass –Rosaline- is quite smart to stay away... for he will forget in a couple of days.

'Yet his love would last, if she loved him back.'

The prince's nephew raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

'Dost thou really think so?'

Benvolio shrugged, and began to walk beside him. A few young girls passed them by, and Mercutio took the chance to toss out some of his bawdy jokes at them, which made them flee half-laughing half-gasping down the lane.

'O, were'st thou in the brawl that took place this morn?' Mercutio asked, as they reached the piazza, where the noises of bartering merchants and horse-drawn carts were beginning to ring out.

'Ay, forsooth, and not proud of it.'

'Who began the fray?'

'The Capels' servants. Why, such a paltry thing for the initiation of such a brutal broil. Lo, they approached Abraham and bite their thumb at him, and he, at once incensed, replied hotly. Then they both drew out their swords, and started exchanging blows, thus I hurried towards them and hastened to part them, but then that rogue of Tybalt came and…'

'What? Didst thou confront the rat-catcher?' A wide grin splattered across Mercutio's face.

'Yes, and I would I hadn't. He drew out his sword, and, his eyes full of scorn, hinted that I was weak to draw among servants.'

'Which thou certainly art.'

Benvolio stopped and looked at him in the face.

'Thou judged my family's ancient rancour as trivial as I did. These public riots wreck the city. If we don't manage ourselves the prince will doom my uncle death. I only draw to keep the peace, and methinks, it is the right thing, even if that makes me lack manly qualities.'

He sat on the church stairs, slightly huffy. Mercutio knelt down before him, smiling a little. Benvolio was a good lad, but his peaceful nature was something he would never understand. Had he been in his shoes, he would have torn that braggart of Tybalt from the nave to the jaws. After all, that was what he deserved. He had chased all three friends forever, trying to bait them into fights. Nonetheless, he knew he hoped for the best.

Since Romeo wanted to be locked up in his room mourning, Mercutio and Benvolio had been hanging out alone for weeks, and he had found out that he enjoyed –and longed for- his company quite a lot. Being near Benvolio, he tended to feel calm, pleased, he always brought a strange sense of relief, and that was most unusual. He liked it, though.

He crossed his arms on top of his lap and Benvolio looked up. A blush spread furtively across his tanned face.

'Thou art right. 'Tis, indeed, a most absurd grudge.'

The Montague grinned, despite himself, and knocked his knees against each other so Mercutio would stand up.

He decided to sit beside him. They were silent for a moment, until Mercutio, unable to remain quiet for more than five minutes, opened his mouth.

'Well, what shall we do about Romeo? It is our duty to cheer up his sprites! Thou, good Benvolio, must assist me to put an end to his heartache!' he crossed his legs. 'Now… let's see for means…'

'I had an idea, before now.'

Mercutio turned to look at him. He looked a little surprised.

'Didst thou receive the invitation for the Capulets' feast?' he continued, regardless of the skeptical look he offered him.

'Yea, a servant came by home with a guest-list. My presence is always required for such celebrations,' he added, with a smug smile.' What about it?'

'Well…,' Benvolio grinned. 'Why not going thither, our faces covered with visors, and teach Romeo to put Rosaline out of his mind and fill it with some other good looks?'

The prince's nephew gasped with mock pride.

'And thou thinkst me indecent enough to take part in that gate-crash?'

Benvolio grinned. By the look on his face, he could tell that he had really impressed him.

'Either my eyesight fails, and thou art not Benvolio, or my ears deceive me and thy proposal is death-defying.'

The Montague stuck his tongue at him before saying.

'We shall watch our steps to pass unobserved. So, dost thou agree with it?'

''Tis a brilliant idea, a brilliant one. However, I still enclose some uncertainties... doth Romeo agree with thy proposal?'

'Oh, yes, he hath no objections,' Benvolio replied quickly.

Mercutio clapped his hands together and threw an arm around his friend's shoulders.

'So thither we'll go. I'll spread the word.'

Benvolio nodded and leaned slightly against him. Mercutio smiled and tightened his embrace.

'Mercutio, our uncle wanted a word with us.'

Both of them looked forward and saw Valentine, who had just arrived and was out of breath. He nodded at Benvolio and turned to his brother, who puffed, clearly annoyed.

'Can't that word wait?' Mercutio asked, his arm still around his friend.

'His patience is likely to expire, for that word has already waited a long time, dear brother. Prithee, come along with me.'

Mercutio grumbled and let go of Benvolio. He pulled a face at his brother, to which he responded with another one.

'How didst thou know I was here?'

'Thou spend most of thy leisure in company of Benvolio nowadays, here, at the piazza.'

Mercutio gave him a derisive look, before adding:

'Till then, farewell. I must go now, but doubt not a whit, I shall meet thee and thy grief-stricken coz at the stroke of ten.'

He playfully dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief and left the square with Valentine.

Benvolio waved them goodbye, Mercutio's warmth lingering over his shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

'Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling

**Disclaimer:**** Blah blah blah... Unfortunately I own NOTHING. All characters belong to Shakespeare. Don't sue. ;) By the way, all the dialogue included here isn't mine, it's from the play. **

**PS: "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls inspired this fic. Apologies if anyone spots grammar mistakes. Bear in mind that English isn't my mother language. :) Reviews will be appreciated. **

I hope this chapter didn't turn out too melodramatic. Enjoy!

'Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling. Being but heavy, I will bear the light.'

'Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance,' Mercutio laughed, tweaking his hair and poking his mouth trying to make him smile.

'Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes with nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, so stakes me to the ground I cannot move,' Romeo carried on sullenly, nudging the jester to get out of the way.

You are a lover!' Mercutio flicked a finger under his chin. It was only play, but it stung quite sharply. 'Borrow Cupid wings, and soar with them above a common bound.'

Romeo brushed his hand away and turned his back on him. He was even more annoying than usual.

'I am too sore empiercèd with his shaft, to soar with his light feathers,' he brought his gaze to the sky above them.' And so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. He looked down again, a frown buried deep between his brows. 'Under love's heavy burden do I sink.'

Mercutio turned round to look at Benvolio, who responded by grimacing his helplessness. No objection, eh? Romeo was determined not to cheer up and forget that wretched girl, but to be wrapped and wallow in his own despair. He rolled his eyes and smiled infuriatingly at him.

'And to sink in it should you burden love –too great oppression for a tender thing.'

The crowd around them laughed and Romeo sunk further in his bad mood. He turned round and gave him a shove.

'Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn,' he punctuated every adjective with a push.

'If love be rough with _you_…,' Mercutio held up the beating by grabbing his wrists. 'Be rough with love! Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down!'

Benvolio groaned. At this rate, they would never get past the door. Why couldn't Romeo collaborate? Why couldn't Mercutio watch his tongue? He decided to stop listening and let the argument wash over him.

'And we mean well in going to this mask… But 'tis no wit to go.' Romeo suddenly said.

'Why, may one ask?' Mercutio cried, trying to keep the note of exasperation out of his voice. He reached a pillar and rested his back against it. He was beginning to lose his patience. They might as well leave him as a torchbearer, if that was what he wanted!

Romeo shuffled slightly where he stood, looking a bit sheepish. Mercutio stared at him long and hard, waiting.

'I dreamt a dream tonight,' he said finally.

Mercutio snorted. So did the crowd before him.

'And so did I!'

'Well, what was yours?' Romeo took a step forward.

'That dreamers often… lie,' he slithered his back down the pillar until he reached the floor.

The partygoers laughed. Romeo sighed, but acknowledged his witticism with a small smile afterwards. He stooped and decided to continue the wordplay.

'In bed asleep, when they do dream things true.'

'Aha! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you!'

Romeo drew back. Silence descended upon the group.

'Queen Mab? Who's she?' Benvolio asked.

Mercutio stood up, a small, smug smile playing at his lips. The semidarkness broke his face into fleeting patterns of light and shadows.

'She's umm...' His eyes wandered over his comrades' faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on the Montagues' than anyone else's. Then he began. 'She is the fairies' midwife. And she comes... in shape no bigger than an agate stone, on the forefinger of an alderman... drawn with a team of little atomies…,' he fluttered his fingers, 'over men's noses,' he reached out and tapped Valentine's nose, 'as they lie asleep.'

'Her wagon-spokes made of… long spinners' legs, the cover of the wings of grasshoppers… her traces of the smallest spider-web...,' he suddenly ran a few meters away from them, then beckoned.

The fellows hurried on, wondering at the way his hands were beginning to embrace themselves around his speech. His voice carried passion and laughter, he ran, jumped and twirled in the penumbra, the colour flared in his cheeks, his eyes were alight. His gangly legs snaking him made him look like a skeleton with a face of a young man... Benvolio smiled. Just a few phrases, and they were all drawn into the tale.

'...And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains and then they dream of love!' Mercutio cried, wrapping his arms around Romeo's waist and lifting him up. 'O'er courtiers' knees that dream on curtsies straight,' he let go of him and bowed. 'O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; o'er ladies lips...,' he caressed his own,' who straight on kisses dream, which oft the angry Mab...'

At this, his smile grew slightly macabre and the lads had to blink.

'With blisters plagues because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are!' he hissed. 'And sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, and then dreams he… of cutting foreign throats!,' he grabbed Benvolio's throat and immediately let go. He seemed to be getting more excited by the second; talking fast, lagging behind his breath, and catching up with it. 'Of breaches, ambuscades, Spanish blades, of health five fathom deep –and then, anon, drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes and being thus frightened,' he made the sign of the cross over himself, 'swears a prayer or two…'

He suddenly stopped dead, out of breath. He stood, gasping, swallowing. Romeo and his cousin exchanged worried looks, then returned their gaze to their friend. He seemed to have realised something.

'And sleeps again,' he whispered hoarsely.

A cluster of stars scattered across the sky, glittering and winking, the crescent moon shone down on his solitary figure as he whirled around the square, while the gatecrashers stood back, staring awkwardly at him. He was spitting out the words as if they were stinging his tongue.

'This is the very Mab...,' he yelled into the dark. 'That plaits the manes of horses in the night, and bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes!'

Benvolio spun around to catch Romeo's eye. He nodded and began to break through the crowd; it was absolutely necessary to calm him down before he would collapse. Everyone knew Mercutio's mind teetered on the verge of sanity and lunacy and once he got started, he couldn't stop… and he rapidly lost control. He possessed an everlasting vivacity that could raise the dead. His emotions switched without warning; he thumped and screamed at you one second and laughed and cuddled you the next. Few could appease him when he was in one of his rants, but Romeo always succeeded.

'This is the hag when maids lie on their back, that presses them,' he crooked his arms over his head and bent his upper body. 'And learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage! THIS IS SHE! THIS IS--!

'Peace, Mercutio, peace!'

Mercutio stood upright furiously, his ice-blue eyes glassy with wrath. Perspiration poured off his face and strands of his fair hair clung to his forehead. He looked like death warmed over. Romeo hastened to seize his shoulders and helped him lean against a wall.

Thou talk'st of nothing,' he whispered, cupping his face in his hands.

Mercutio gazed sadly into his friend's eyes, then shrugged. He possessed some kind of taciturn beauty, grand and distant, yet evocative of warmth, as if it had been there long ago, natural and irresistible. Silently, he cursed Rosaline and all the other maids he had mooned over. They had stolen it away from him.

He had not dared say a word to Romeo about his feelings. Long ago, he had, with a supreme effort, removed them away from him, and it had been a relief. The agony had ended. It had worked slowly, like a spell, he had become haunted by his presence, and with rising worry he had found out. The dream which had fired his imagination had been so beyond his reach he felt ashamed of it.

'True, I talk of dreams...,' he whispered with a long, bitter smile. 'Which are the children of an idle brain... begot of nothing but vain fantasy...'

He shivered as he spoke these words, aware of Romeo's gentle touch on his face. Mab served to confirm dreamers in whatever vices they were addicted to... violence, greed...lust... And he had dreamed. But sleep only lasted for a few hours. Reality was as harsh as the sunlight that woke him up every morning.

'Which is as thin of substance as the air... and more inconstant than the wind, who woos even now the frozen bosom of the north...'

He couldn't understand how Romeo fell in and out of love so quickly. He reacted very weakly to rejection from a lover, but it always passed, sooner or later. However the love which had sprung on his heart had not been of a sudden variable fancy of a youngster... but rather the wild passion of a man.

The power of fantasies, daydreams and desires were corrupting, all of them as frail and ridiculous as the Fairy Queen.

'And being angered puffs away from thence...'

He had made a decision. After all, it was better to lie in the shadows of plain friendship than to be a forgotten lover.

'Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.'

Romeo didn't reply, but merely continued to rub his shoulders. He had been in a state. It had happened many times before, and it wouldn't be the last one.

Benvolio, however, had followed, and hadn't interpreted those words as some madman's ravings. They meant something. Those "tirades" were Mercutio's only outlet to express what went on with his mind, because he didn't ever share his woes with anybody. They were his and no one else's. He would never allow anyone to help him, let alone comfort him. But this was serious. The story had turned dark and nasty, to the point he had crumpled to impotence before their eyes! How come Romeo couldn't see that?

Glancing backwards, he saw the rest of the crowd waiting uneasily. They couldn't delay any longer. He took a deep breath.

'This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves. Supper is done, and we shall come too late.'

Romeo's arms flopped to his sides. With one last gaze at the two of them, Mercutio turned round and started walking. Both cousins looked at each other. Romeo shrugged helplessly, and started walking too. Benvolio beckoned the youths behind him, and with that, put on a mask.


End file.
